Well, that was interesting
by Click96
Summary: AU of 5.3. What if Arthur wasn't the only one to meet his ancestors? '"Merlin?" "Yes, Arthur?" "Why is my father currently having a stare off with a very dead Dragonlord?"
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Warning: Do not take half of what is said here seriously. It's meant to be mildly funny, and...well...I think I got it. Possibly. Some OOC-ness is to be expected.**

**Oh, and Merlin? Not mine. Seriously, why would you think that?**

* * *

Arthur breathed in deeply, steadying his nerves. He was going to see his father again, despite the fact that he was dead and it should be impossible. Well, without the use of magic, but who was really thinking about that? He blew the horn and dropped it, stepping forward to enter the Veil. An echoing of the horn's distinct trumpet coming from right behind stopped him in his tracks.

"...Merlin?" The man in question came into view in front of Arthur, grinning cheekily.

"Yes?"

"...What are you doing?"

"I'm coming with you." Arthur stared at him blankly.

"Really."

"Yep." Gods his face, that grin- it was like he was taunting him! Being deliberately...Merlin!

"And why is that?"

"Well, I'm thinking that if I haven't met my father, there's a good chance he's dead." Merlin explained, as if it were obvious. "And anyway, if he _isn't_,well, dead, at least I'll know that and get to meet my Grandparents." He frowned. "Unless they faked their deaths just to get away from me...I tried explaining that setting the cat on fire was an accident, and I didn't mean to do it, but they didn't believe me!" Granted, he had been trying to make it fly on the principle that hot air rises, but he hadn't really thought that a sopping wet cat (to prevent it catching fire, a bucket of water had been thrown on it) could actually be flammable.  
...Or maybe it was because their house blew up in his frustration. He had been pretty desperate to see a flying cat.

"...I won't ask. How did they respond." Merlin shrugged.

"They just shook their heads, looked sad, and told me I was just like my father."

"Right. I'll just walk in here now, pretend you never said any of that and that you are not following me in." Merlin's grin didn't bode well for Arthur's peace of mind. Not one bit.

* * *

Arthur stared. Then he shut his eyes, rubbed them and stared again. He glanced over at Merlin, to see him staring too, jaw slack. Arthur reached across and slammed it shut, causing Merlin to yelp and glare at him, but the strange vision was still there.

"Merlin?" He muttered. This was not happening.

"…Yes, Arthur?" Was it just him, or had Merlin's voice risen an octave in the space of ten seconds?

"Why is my father, the very, _very _anything-even-slightly-related-to-magic-must-be-bu rned-at-the-stake ex-king of Camelot having a glare contest with the, also very very dead, anti-Uther, no-I-will-not-help-your-kingdom-unless-you-whine-b eg-and-plead-and-then-remind-me-of-old-debts last Dragonlord Balinor?" Merlin didn't respond. Well, not verbally at least. His mouth opened and shut a couple of times, and you could just _see _his mind working furiously to come up with an answer besides the strange, squeaky choking sound he was making.

"…_Mer_lin. Is there something you're not telling me? Because you're really doing a job of explaining why there is someone here who, technically, shouldn't be. Now, I'm sure there is some sort of logical and reasonable explanation for all this. If you'd care to tell me?"

Merlin was still doing his fish impression. Arthur marvelled for a moment at just how _good _it was, before he realised he was getting side-tracked.

"Merlin." Oh, good. The fish's gone. And been replaced by a tomato, it would seem.

"Uh...I, well...You see-" Arthur sighed dramatically, interrupting Merlin and drawing attention to himself.

"Any time today would be nice." It would seem tomatoes come in many shades of red. Or at least, Merlin's face did.

"Arthur." Uther addressed his son, his tone as formal as it had been in life. This probably had something to do with the fact he was still glaring daggers at the Dragonlord, who was still staring right back. Arthur resisted the urge to pinch his nose to hold back the headache he could feel coming on. He just knew Merlin had something to do with this.

"Father." He responded. Really, what else could he say? His father was currently ignoring him in favour of a staring contest. Oh yeah, and he was dead. "You're looking...well."

Oh God. Had he really just said that? The man looked like he was dead!...which he was. And it seemed that the two toddlers- sorry, men, had been shocked out of their silent tantrum/stare-off and were now looking at him. Ignoring the mental image of Uther throwing himself on the floor and bawling which was threatening to send him into hysterical laughter, Arthur gazed back at the two men staring at him incredulously and kept fighting to keep his lip from twitching. When Balinor joined the image, throwing pebbles at the Uther now in baby-clothes, he knew it was a lost cause.

Merlin, Uther and Balinor watched, stunned as the king of Camelot, the man feared (or hated) by his enemies, inspired his allies and subjects and who had put down magical plot after magical plot...collapsed into a heap on the floor, giggling helplessly. Every time it seemed he would recover, he would take one look at his father's face, and collapse again, gasping out something about pebbles, baby-clothes and tantrums. Surreptitiously, Balinor leaned over to Merlin whilst still staring.

"So...is this normal behaviour?" Merlin numbly shook his head.

"I don't think so...but then again, he hasn't seen his father in a while. This could just be his way of coping." Balinor nodded, eyeing the hysterical heap.

"I suppose...anyway, how've you been?" Merlin blinked, glancing at Balinor before turning back to Arthur.

"Oh, fine, thanks. I dealt with Kilgharrah, after." Balinor's face darkened.

"Is he dead?"

"Oh, no. He's still knocking around, you know, doing whatever it is he does and being infuriatingly cryptic. I hate going to him for advice. Always talks in riddles when it's an emergency..."

Balinor blinked. "He never use to be like that..." Merlin shrugged.

"Must be age." Balinor looked thoughtful for a moment, before nodding.

"Maybe. Or the loss of a species." Merlin shook his head.

"Nah, can't be that, Aithusa's knocking around."

"Aithusa?"

"Ohhh yeah, I didn't tell you about that, did I? Well, we found another dragon's egg. I hatched it, and then Kilgharrah managed to lose her. To Morgana. Who she saved. And then they _both_ got themselves captured, Aithusa's deformed, and both are evil!" He let out a long-suffering sigh. "Bloody dragons..."  
Balinor looked at him in sympathy.

"Yeah, I suppose that would be frustrating." A beat of silence as both watched Arthur clutching at his stomach, giggles finally subsiding. "How's Hunith?"

"She's coping. Your death hit her hard, but after you'd been missing so long, it didn't hurt as much as it could. You know, she still misses you."

"After all these years..."

"She wanted to look for you, but with me around, she was stuck in Ealdor." Balinor hummed thoughtfully.

"I would have come back if I'd known about you. Taken you with me, and your mother too." Uther chose this moment to realise what they'd been talking about.

He blinked as his brain starting thinking about what they'd said _dragons...hatching...running...his _mother...

"YOU'RE HIS SON!" He screamed, pointing dramatically at Merlin. "AND **YOU!** YOU'RE HIS _FATHER!" _

Merlin blinked, turning to his father. "You know, I thought he knew."

"Why on earth would you think that?" Merlin shrugged.

"Thought that was why you two were glaring."

"Nooo, that was because he killed most of the dragons, imprisoned the last one, killed every other Dragonlord and made me abandon your mother."

"Ah." It was at this point Arthur decided to join in.

"Sorry about that. Father, how have you been?" Ignore the stupid question. _Ignore_ the _stupid _question. _Ignore it. _You'll _giggle again._

"HE'S A DRAGONLORD!"

"Balinor? I thought that was why we were looking for him when we killed the dragon." Why was Balinor glaring at Merlin, and what was so fascinating about his boots? Obviously, Merlin thought there was something- he was studying them as if there was no tomorrow.

"NOT HIM! THE _BOY!" _ Uther hissed into his face. Arthur ignored the urge to wipe away the spit.

"Who, Merlin? That's impossible! He's useless! When we fought the dragon, all he did was hide!" Simultaneously, Merlin ducked his head, Balinor slapped his forehead, muttering about the idiocy of the Pendragons and Uther stared at him as if Arthur was so stupid it hurt.

"Why haven't you told him?" Balinor groaned. Merlin flushed a bright red and Arthur was instantly suspicious.

"Told me what?" Merlin seemed to be looking anywhere but at him. "_Merlin."_

"Um, the dragon, sort of isn't actually...well, dead." He coughed. "I...snm'way." He mumbled.

"What."

"Isnmway." Balinor kicked him in the shin. Merlin glared at the innocently whistling Dragonlord."I SENT HIM AWAY!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Merlin, only a Dragonlord could do that." Why was Balinor moaning 'humanity is doomed' into the ground?

"That's why I didn't tell him," Merlin muttered, patting the older man's shoulder. "The hope of Albion is mind-numbingly stupid."

"...Hang on. Didn't he say something about knowing your mother earlier?" Uther nodded frantically, a hopeful look on his face while Balinor looked as if things weren't quite as bad as he thought. Merlin just had this knowing look on his face.

"MERLIN! HE KNEW YOUR MOTHER!"

"Yes, Arthur..yes, he did."

"Then that means...!"

"Yes...?"

"THAT HE TOLD YOUR MOTHER HOW TO CONTROL DRAGONS, AND THEN SHE TOLD YOU! MERLIN, WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME!?" Balinor looked like he was ready to die. Again. Uther burst into tears. Merlin sighed, as if he had expected nothing more from the wilfully blind prat.

"Because...that's not what happened." Merlin briefly shut his eyes, praying that this would work out well. "Balinor...he's my father. I'm a Dragonlord."

"...I told you he wasn't worth your tears." Merlin smiled. Of all the things to pick up on..."I'm sorry."

"It's alright. You didn't know."

"Well, isn't this heart-warming." Uther grumbled to Balinor, who seemed to have recovered from the mind-blowing stupidity. The Dragonlord gave him a look.

"Aren't you just a bundle of sunshine." He muttered. "What's the problem with this?"

"The boy's a servant! Arthur is far above his social standing, and shouldn't even talk to him except to give him orders!" The ex-king huffed. "And he's a Dragonlord! Arthur should be deciding on his sentence, not apologising for causing undue distress!" Balinor raised an eyebrow.

"Just for existing? He didn't exactly choose this, you know. Neither did I, or any of the others. Or the dragons." He let Uther sputter for a minute, before continuing. "Anyway, it's not like you can do anything about it now. You're dead, I'm dead, and by the looks of things our sons are best friends. How does that feel?"

"I..."

"MERLIN, WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME!?" Merlin yelped as a glove smacked him across the head.

"...interesting friendship." Uther finished. Balinor hummed in agreement.

"Seems very violent. Almost like Arthur's denying it exists." Merlin overheard and a grin spread across his face.

"Hey, Arthur! I'm not the only one who thinks you're in denial about our friendship!" Arthur crossed his arms, unimpressed.

"Well, if someone didn't feel the need to keep important secrets from me, maybe I would be a little more open about it. Eh, Merlin?" He chuckled nervously.

"Yeah..."

Arthur nodded, stepping up to Uther. "Father. I have missed you. A lot. And there are times where I don't know what to do and can't help but think that you would make far better decisions than I ever would. I have done my best in ruling the kingdom, and any advice would be appreciated." He bowed his head. "Please."

Uther opened his mouth, ready to unleash a tirade about the sloppy rule- showing mercy, knighting commoners, marrying a serving girl _for love, _what a ridiculous notion- before he caught the other two glaring at him in warning, eyes screaming at him silently, _Don't._It was not that they were particularly scary - though who knew the boy could be intimidating? - it was more the thought that, when they left, Uther would have eternity with Balinor, the self proclaimed master of practical jokes. And he really deserved that title. Uther still remembered the horror stories involving blue dye, 5 horses, an anvil, a strip of cloth, a family of rats, a river and a spoon. And he still had flashbacks from his childhood, when the Dragonlords were treated as, well, lords, and he became the unwitting victim of many a trap. He'd been stuck with a purple face and smelling like a girl for weeks...So what came out of his mouth was completely different.

"You have done a fine job Arthur. As well as I could expect. Well done." And, seeing the Dragonlords watching him expectantly, he hugged his son.

Arthur stood there in shock for a moment, before returning the gesture hesitantly. Nodding, Uther withdrew, smiling. "I will always love you Arthur."

Arthur looked like he was about to cry. "Father...I love you too." Balinor and Merlin were both watching the scene with ridiculously soppy expressions. When they noticed, both kings felt their dignity at stake and turned to glare at the two.

"Don't. Say. A word." They growled. It really was astonishing how synchronised they were. Merlin and Balinor, not to be outdone turned to each other and embraced enthusiastically.

"My son! Alas, I have not seen thee for many years, and our meeting has been overshadowed by the emotional reunion of the Pendragons!"

"Father! I have missed you so much, that I almost did something inexplicably stupid! I nearly asked Arthur for emotional advice!" Balinor gasped, tightening his grip.

"Never again shall you contemplate such a thing! The very thought is terrifying enough to make me consider asking Kilgharrah for help!" Were those _tears_ on their faces?

"No, Father!"

"Son!"

"Father!"

"Son!"

"Oh Gods stop it please." Arthur groaned. Merlin grinned. They released the embrace, and Merlin started to turn to go to Arthur. A pair of hand clasping his shoulders pulled him back in front of Balinor.

"All joking aside, I've missed you, the opportunity to get to know you and a chance to spend time with you and your mother. I've missed Hunith just as much all these years, and I just wish I'd been able to go back." He patted Merlin gently on the shoulder. "Look after your mother for me, and try not to get yourself killed. You two attract trouble like flies to honey." Merlin smiled sheepishly, nodding.

"I will, Father." Balinor smiled.

"Go on then." Merlin nodded, walking up to a sniggering Arthur.

"All finished?"

"I am. I don't know about you, dollopheads have an unfortunate tendency to take a long time with things like these..."

"Merlin."

"Yes, Arthur?"

"Shut up."

"Shutting up."

As they made their way to where they came in, Arthur started complaining again. "I can't believe you didn't tell me about being a Dragonlord! It's ridiculous. Next thing I know, yuo'll be telling me you're an immortal warlock who's been doing magic since birth, and whose destiny is to save my life over and over and bring magic back to Albion!"

"Umm..."

"_MERLIN!?"_

They left the spirit world to the sounds of Balinor's laughter and Uther's enraged screams.

* * *

**End.**

**Should probably revise some physics now...**


	2. Cats, physics and explosions

**It would seem that I forgot to put this as completed when it is, so now I feel bad. Really bad. So instead of putting it as complete without adding anything else, which would make me feel awful, I decided to expand on what exactly happened with the cat. It will be left as complete after that, unless I have another ridiculous idea to expand on in this mini universe of sorts. Which is highly likely.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Merlin, the cat and explosions would be canon.**

* * *

**Chapter 2: Of early physics, cats, and explosions.**

* * *

When Merlin was four, he loved nothing more than to watch things fly (His mother excluded, of course). It probably started when his mother pointed to a merlin hovering in the distance and telling him that was what he was named after, as after that he would spent all the time he could sneaking out and watching birds swooping and soaring with excitement and a sense of rebellious pleasure. After a couple of weeks, maybe a month, he started trying to make things fly. His first attempt was met with pain and dizziness.

He quickly learnt not to levitate himself in cramped spaces. Or that making holes in his bedroom ceiling wouldn't help when flying.

His second attempt was considerably happier, as was the third and fourth attempts, but the fifth was met with screaming and a slap on the wrist. Apparently, making the pot hover whilst it was full of hot stew was a good way to terrify his mother. When she had stopped screaming hysterically and had calmed down enough to ask what he'd been thinking, he explained as best as a four year old could that he had wanted to see it fly. She listened calmly, and told him gently that he had to stop making things float with his magic, but could try any other way.

After his sixth attempt, he was told any other way than his magic and tall trees.

Old Man Simmons kept a close eye on him after that.

One night, after a failed seventh, eighth and ninth attempts, he was sitting quietly by the fire in his grandparents house while they and his mother were helping out elsewhere. He stared morosely into the flames, wallowing in his misery when a pile of leaves were blown into the fire by the wind gusting under the door. Merlin watched, mesmerised, as they fell into the fire and started to rise. Swallowing, he shakily grabbed a leaf and dropped it gently above the flames, and when it stayed, another and another. As he watched the dead leaves dance in the hot air, a splitting grin spread across his face.

* * *

Merlin quickly found that leaves didn't normally fly, and it wasn't his magic at work- he discovered that, anything light put over anything hot would float, and that hot air rises. With this in mind, he started using fires to make things fly, and learnt that things normally catch fire if they're thrown onto one. He was very careful to use wet or damp things after that.

About a week later, Merlin had tried to fly leaves, grass, branches, flowers, pebbles, mud, pots, bowls, clothes and the occasional mouse. He was tempted to try birds, but dismissed them as they could already fly (that, and they were extremely difficult to catch). Having run out of things to experiment with, he was sat there, bored, whilst waiting for his mother and grandparents to finish bringing in the harvest. Swinging his legs, arms propping up his head, he stared out of the open door. There wasn't anything particularly interesting out there, just people carrying the crops back and forth, more people running out to the fields, his grandparents' ginger tom sleeping just outside the door, basking in the sunlight.

...wait a minute...

Finally! Merlin may have attempted to make _mice_ fly, but he hadn't tested on any other animals. At the moment, there was a prime specimen just waiting to be used in experimentation, and what was even better was that the subject was already tranquillised! There would be no need to use anaesthetic, as the subject was already unconscious, so costs would be saved and they could get results from this trial even sooner!

...Merlin had no idea where that thought came from, but he ignored it and carried on with his four-year-old, sixth century, non-scientist thought process.

He was bored. There was a cat. He hadn't made a cat fly yet. Making the cat fly would stop him being bored for at least ten minutes. With this in mind, the child hopped down off the bench and rushed towards the cat. He was about to pick it up and drag it to the fire when he suddenly remembered what happened when dry materials came into contact with flames. Having no wish for the cat to become kitty flambée, he dragged the half empty bucket of water from the corner dumped it over the now very awake moggy. Not giving time for the feline to become a yowling, scratching maelstrom of fury, he hauled it into his arms and tottered over to the flames. The cat, now seeing its destination, started to panic and began to frantically claw at Merlin's arms. The boy lurched the final steps before giving into the pain and dropping the ginger fuzzball into the flames.

Needless to say, kitty was not happy. The instant it landed, spread-eagled on the logs, it let out a piercing caterwauling and shot out of the hearth like a bullet. Merlin toppled backwards as an orange streak flew by and knocked him into the table. His head collided into the corner with a painful, dizzying thud and brought tears to his eyes. The already shoddy control on his magic slipped, and the frustration at the blinking cat and the blinding pain in his head resulted in the small house where he lived with his mother, well...it blew up.

It led to some extreme panic amongst the villagers. Houses don't just _burst_, bits of wall and ceiling and door piercing through other houses and nearly some people. And they don't spontaneously turn into a blazing inferno either, a thick cloud of smoke that can be seen for miles just hovering above it. And, usually when a house burns like that, small children inside don't just come out with nothing more than a bleeding scalp.

Merlin's family arrived just in time to see a teary, bleeding Merlin clinging onto the person who had retrieved him from the fire desperately. Hunith gladly took over, crushing him into a huge hug while the story came out garbled incoherently through great, gasping sobs, both women gasping and expressing sympathy and giving comfort to the traumatised toddler. Merlin's grandfather...he just shook his head, conflicted between disbelief and despairing acceptance, before striding off to get them somewhere to spend the night, muttering, "Bloody boy, don't know what I was expecting..." He huffed, throwing both arms in the air. "Just like his father!"

* * *

**Yes, it is short. Yes, it is incredibly vague and may feel slightly rushed. But I have a maths exam in two days, and this is the only time I'll have to do this.**

**For the cat, I had a mental image of a four-year-old Merlin throwing leaves over a fire and watching them float. His grandparents had a ginger cat, and he really wanted to see it fly; naturally, Merlin decides that, since he can't use magic, he'll use the fire. But he doesn't want the cat to get burnt, so he'll throw water on it.  
****The poor unsuspecting cat was fast asleep when that annoying two-legs who is always pulling its tail or wearing it as a hat throws a bucket of water over it. Dazed, it doesn't respond while Merlin picks it up and hauls it to the fire. It only responds by yowling and shooting out, spraying sparks everywhere when it's actually dumped on the burning logs. Merlin gets knocked over and whacks his head against the table, ensuring even worse control on his magic than a four-year-old would usually have. So his frustration manifests as the house blowing up.**

**I am unnecessarily cruel to fictional things.**

**You know what would be really, really nice? Reviews. Thanks for reading.**


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